


Where The Heart Is

by oxiosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: Luciano wishes there was something he could say to make it better. That he could wash away Martín’s pain and homesickness of a place he didn’t even truly get to see and yet misses with every inch of his being.





	Where The Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> Disclamer; the characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández.  
> Brazil: Luciano Da Silva.

The sky has been dark for some hours when Luciano finally reaches the refuge, breathless and with a huge smile on his face.

It’s late, and there are not many people still up, but the small group in the dining room receive him with friendly smiles and tired eyes. Luciano smiles back at them but does not linger much in conversation; even if this is the place he calls home and this group of people who have lost everything and everyone to T.R.I.M. just like Luciano has are who he calls his family, they are not exactly who Luciano want so very eagerly to see  _ now _ .

“Where’s Martín?” Luciano asks, barely keeping a wild smile from his face.

No one has seen him since supper; come to think about it, they don’t think he even appeared to have something to eat with the rest.

Luciano needs to ask no more.

He sneaks into the kitchen, takes a small - slightly burnt - bread loaf, and then heads out into the night through the kitchen’s back door.

The refuge was once an old farm, now abandoned. Luciano walks through the night in the long dead fields that forced the people who used to live here out - courtesy of T.R.I.M. He ignores all the merry chatter and screaming from inside the house, and heads for the empty stables just some metres away from the cabin.

Instead of going inside, he walks around the building, until he finds what he’s looking for. He shoves the bread inside his mouth, and starts to climb the gutter towards the stables’ roof.

Martín sits alone over roof tiles, knees to his chest and his eyes up to the night sky. It’s a little hidden spot Luciano taught him -  _ their _ little hidden spot, he likes to think -, secluded enough to provide some privacy from the always noisy cabin.

Luciano doesn’t need to announce himself and neither does Martín have to look in his direction to know it’s him.

“Hey,” Luciano drops by his side.

“Hey,” Martín answers back quietly.

The air is heavy and sticky, warm wind rising up and around them. The promise of a storm brews and rumbles on the horizon, but for now Elpis’ twin moons shine bright over their heads, casting a clear white light that illuminates brightly the fields surrounding them.

Luciano takes a bite of his bread and scoots a little closer. As he chews on a mouthful, he tears it apart and offers Martín a half. Martín takes it silently, but does not eat it; instead, he absently starts slowly tearing it away into crumbs with his fingers.

Luciano swallows, and can’t help to lean towards Martín.

“So,” he says, low and gentle. “What’s the matter?”

By now, Luciano knows Martín like he’s known him his whole life. They had a bit of rough start, but they have warmed to each other, a little too much from Luciano’s side if he has to be honest and thinks about it - which he tries not to.

Luciano knows that if Martín is here, something is surely troubling him.

“They changed its name,” Martín answers without looking up.

Luciano purses his lips and wrinkles his nose in confusion.

“Whose name?”

Martín throws his half of bread over the edge of the roof, watches it disappear below them.

“Eos,” he says.

Martín has been through a lot. He had been taken hostage at gunpoint by Luciano himself, had survived a blowing ship and a land crash to Elpis, had escaped, been beaten and shot at by both Elpians and T.R.I.M. agents, had joined the little rebellion he had been sent to fight off and helped infiltrate and blow the Elpian T.R.I.M. facility he had been supposed to guard.

He has seen his reality and the world as he knew it crushed and burnt in a veil of lies befores his very eyes, and honestly, Luciano is surprised Martín hasn’t had some kind of mental breakdown so far - without counting how he had thrown up and had had what Luciano is almost certain was a panic attack right after Luciano crushed them into Elpis.

But all of that is in the past now. That had been months ago. Martín is with them now, part of Luciano’s little made-up family, and while T.R.I.M. might not be gone, they have retreated enough to give them a little well-earned break. They are caught in a moment of quiet before the storm breaks again.

It has been during this time that Luciano has seen Martín more hopeless and tired than ever.

It’s no secret that for the last weeks, with no T.R.I.M. threat looming over their heads, Martín has been doing some research. Now that he no longer is under tight surveillance, he is free to ask and pry into whatever he wants, and so he does. He has taken it upon himself to find out more about Eos, hoping to find some truth and sense about all this.

All his work had been fruitless. There are no registers of  _ anything _ about Eos before T.R.I.M.

At least Luciano had thought so, so far.

“That’s not even its real name,” Martín continues. “They changed it. Just like they changed everything else.”

“So,” Luciano whispers gently, and scoots a little closer until their elbows are touching. “What’s its real name?”

Martín’s eye flutter down, and for the small pause he makes Luciano can tell he hasn’t said it out loud yet.

“Astraeus,” he answer, and the name sinks between them.

It’s such a small thing to know of home - to be the _ only _ thing you know of home, Luciano thinks. Just a name. It’s clearly not enough for Martín, and a painful thought, to know that T.R.I.M. didn’t even leave that untouched. That they went far enough not only to destroy everything to settle themselves in, but they even went far enough to erased their past and change their name, like Martín’s home and people had never truly existed at all.

Luciano wishes there was something he could say to make it better. That he could wash away Martín’s pain and homesickness of a place he didn’t even truly get to see and yet misses with every inch of his being.

There are no magic words that can solve any of this.

But as matter of fact, Luciano guesses he has something that can make things a little better.

“You know, I brought you a present,” he says, trying to sound more cheerful than he actually feels.

Martín lets out a small huff and a humm, but doesn’t acknowledge Luciano’s words any further. Luciano reaches inside his pocket, and softly takes Martín’s hand. He leaves on it a circular device barely smaller than his palm.

Martín takes the gift, and quietly examines it and purses his lips.

“A holo album?” he asks and raises a questioning eyebrow at Luciano.

It’s old and rusty thing,  _ many _ generations outdated. Martín gives him a dubious glance, and Luciano only offers what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

Martín presses the power button, and a holographic menu displays in front of his face. There’s only a single lonely holo pic on the gallery. Martín presses it, and the menu retracts back to the holo album. The device vibrates in Martín’s hand, and cast a thin green laser light that scans their surroundings up and down in a 2 metre radius before disappearing. The holo albums gives a small rumble, and buzzes loudly for a couple of seconds before it finally musters to load the holo pic and build an hologram around them, and no longer they sit on the stables’ roof under Elpis’ starry night.

Martín stands, and he slowly turns around to catch every detail of the holo pic with wide blown eyes.

Wide open green fields stretch as far as the eye can see, a long crystal clear river trailing across it and a lonely little cabin standing in the distance. Far away, flat like a mural at the light walls of the hologram that separates them for reality, a long impressive chain of snowy mountains encircles them framing the fields. The old holo pic can only muster dull numb colours, lacking in fine details and textures, and the outdated device even struggles to keep an intermittent hologram that blinks away every few seconds up around them, but the picture is clean enough.

Luciano and Martín stand on the top of a hill by a tree and an old fashioned swing.

They are no longer alone; a young girl with an even younger boy sitting on the swing and clinging shyly to her hand stare unblinking past them, eyes locked in whoever had taken the picture who knows how many _ decades _ ago. Their hair and clothes sway gently and so very slowly to a non existing breeze, just as the long grass around their feet does.

Martín almost reaches for them, before snapping his hand back down, before slowly turning with blown wide eyes. He stares at him, frozen in place.

“Luciano,” Martín whispers quietly, breathlessly. “What’s this?”

Luciano shifts and blushes, ruffles his hair and looks aways suddenly nervous under Martín’s attention.

“I did my own research too,” he confesses sheepishly. “I found a man-well, actually I found his daughter, he passed away some years ago... Anyways, uh, she was the one that gave me that holo album. She showed it to me and was nice enough to let me keep it. She has lived all her life here, but her dad didn’t-before he came here, he had lived back in E-I mean back in Astraeus. That’s her dad when he was a boy, and that’s her aunt,” Luciano cocks his head towards the children in the middle in the picture. Then, he points to the structure in the distance. “That was their farm, back before T.R.I.M. even got to-”

He is interrupted by the sound of the holo album crashing the ground and Martín dropping to his knees and clashing his lips against Luciano’s.

It’s sudden, and while Martín didn’t mean to a little brusque too, but it turns soft and gentle, their lips barely touching. Luciano doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare even  _ breathe _ as his face burns and warmth blooms in his chest. He can only close his eyes, and lean hopelessly towards soft warm lips before Martín open his mouth to kiss him,  _ truly  _ kiss him.

Luciano feels light headed, and he might be shaking in place as he opens his mouth to Martín and deepens the kiss just a little more. They move slow and gentle, but it still takes Luciano’s breath away, and he almost lets out a quiet groan when Martín scoots closer until there’s no space between them. Luciano’s heart hammers on his chest and ears as he brings shaky hands to Martín’s face, sinks his finger in his thick hair. Martín’s fists close over Luciano’s chest, around the old worn out cloth of his shirt, and he pulls him painfully close and kisses him like he needs Luciano to save his life.

The holo pic blinks and buzzes, and finally gives away back to the fried holo album forgotten on the roof tiles. The storm has caught up to them, thundering menacing over their heads, but they pay it no mind even after the first fat drops of rain start pouring down.

Melted together like this, where Luciano can feel Martín’s sorrow and relief settling on his very bones, he prays and hopes that Martín has found here,  _ in him _ , something akin to home.

**Author's Note:**

> A small continuation to [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12863292)
> 
> Merry Xmas everyone?


End file.
